


between assignments and oblivion

by Siriusstuff



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski are the Same Age, Ficlet, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marin Morrell only mentioned, Not canon compliant in the least, Prompt Fic, Teen Romance, ass kissing (literally), calling it smut may be exaggerating, i don't know what to rate this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusstuff/pseuds/Siriusstuff
Summary: This is why high school students Stiles and Derek don't get any work done on their joint project.





	between assignments and oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic is how I treated the five word prompt, "so... what are we now?" I'm sorry I don't remember the source but the list is getting reblogged on tumblr the past few days. (I wouldn't know how to include a link anyway.)  
> I haven't posted since Feb or March but I also haven't finished anything since then either. It's frustrating to everyone who knows how blocked feels. So I looked for a prompt I liked and swore to use it to write and finish something in at least a thousand words.
> 
> Arya_Fenix translated this ficlet to Russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/5809776

It was sad, really sad, Stiles thought as he watched Derek pull his belt snug and buckle it. Even though it made an aesthetically pleasing sight around his hips and across that flat plane of his lower ab—naked was better, really so much better.

He whined, “Why’re you putting your pants on?”

“Because I don’t want to walk down the hall to your bathroom naked,” was Derek’s answer.

“Told you, m’dad won’t be home for hours,” Stiles semi-mumbled, stretching out his arms and wiggling his fingers as if that would entice Derek back within reach.

“Where’s my shirt?”

Stiles groaned then lied, “You weren’t wearing a shirt.”

“Stiles,” Derek scowled, or tried to through a smile he couldn’t stop.

“I don’t know!” Stiles huffed, then flopped to his other side, offering Derek a view of broad shoulders and a backside way more enticing than wiggling fingers.

But he really needed the bathroom.

When he returned it was to see Stiles upright on the bedside and back in his pants too. Even in profile he still looked so… _good_. Those shoulders, capped with rounded muscles probably no one suspected lurking under Stiles’s oversized clothes—Derek couldn’t stop _appreciating_ them. Did he have a thing for shoulders, he wondered.

“So… where’s _my_ shirt?” Stiles asked, petulant.

An hour or so earlier Derek saw Stiles’s shirt get flung through the air. Now it hung half out of the wastebasket, not in plain view, besides Stiles’s desk.

“I don’t know,” Derek replied. Lying was worth getting to appreciate those deltoids a little longer.

“You wanna go for something to eat? I can get some take-out for my dad, too, while we’re out,” Stiles proposed.

Derek, on the fast track to discovering Stiles numerous quirks, already knew if anything de-motivated Stiles from school work more than a hearty orgasm, it was hunger. Now Stiles was under the influence of both.

“I told my mom I’d be home for dinner.—And when are we gonna work on our presentation?” Derek asked, even though he himself didn’t care about any class assignment at that moment, if he were being honest.

“I don’t care about the assignment!” Stiles declared, leaping up. “Life’s too short! We’re too young to be bogged down _writing_ about sexuality!” he griped. “We should be _living_ our sexuality, right now!”

Derek’s shirt draped from one of Stiles’s arms he’d raised, not that he was offering it back to him.

Derek stepped to the wastebasket to retrieve Stiles’s shirt. He had to lean over just a bit but enough for Stiles to feast his eyes on the results of Derek’s making his way up the ranks from the freshman to the varsity baseball team: thighs of steel and an ass so fine no pair of pants in this world could disguise it.

“So next Friday we shrug and say ‘Sorry, Ms. Morrell, we decided to _live_ our sexuality instead of complete the assignment. You OK with that, Ms. Morrell? Cool,’” Derek taunted.

They had an opening sentence, Stiles had seven websites bookmarked for pertinent info, and Derek had the outline completed. They were scheduled to deliver their presentation in six days.

Of course, there was now a lube stain on Derek’s immaculately handwritten outline.

Ms. Morrell, noting both Stiles’s and Derek’s passionate opinions about gender as a social construct, had paired them up for the duo presentations in her Intro to Ethics class, currently focused on gender politics.

Derek’s uncle Peter was a cross-dresser—as a lifestyle, not to entertain people. That was the origin of Derek’s heartfelt offense at societal norms. Stiles was developing an anarchist streak, in his opinions at least, possibly in response to having a lawman father.

There might be an exhibitionist streak developing in there as well: “We could always provide a demonstration!” Stiles leered wickedly. His eyebrows bopped up and down.

Derek only wrinkled his nose and puckered his lips. The expression failed to convey disapproval though; Stiles thought it looked cute. He puckered his lips too, but only to make kissy sounds.

They drew close, still clutching each other’s shirts when they pressed their mouths together, smooching noisily.

After a pause and a little silent, thoughtful staring into each other’s eyes, Stiles dipped his finger into the notch at Derek’s throat, stroking gently there—followed by another hairpin turn in conversation.

“So… what are we now?”

“What do you mean?” Derek’s tone was coy.

“Well, we started out class mates.” Stiles paused. “Then study buddies,” he added with a goofy head waggle. “Then project partners… And now…?”

“Isn’t the validity of labels something we’re planning to refute?” Derek teased, with one final, alas, no less futile reference to their assignment.

Stiles’s half-smile fell instantly. Who knows how far he’d have recoiled if Derek hadn’t immediately plucked him back all the way and against his chest.

“You-know-who asked me to a movie,” Derek said softly, since his mouth was right at Stiles’s ear.

After nothing further seemed forthcoming, “And...?” Stiles asked. He didn’t feel any less anxious despite their embrace. Maybe Derek was just softening an oncoming blow.

Derek lowered his voice even more to whisper, “I said I was already seeing someone.”

Relief made Stiles’s mood soar to euphoria he expressed by tightening his hold on Derek and laying kisses wherever he could, finally latching onto Derek’s neck with a little suckle that caused Derek to jolt.

“ _No_ , no hickies!” Derek pleaded, giggling as he shifted Stiles so they were face to face. “My mom’s already suspicious we’re not spending all this time together ‘doing homework.’” He’d have made air quotes if his arms weren’t coiled around Stiles.

Both shirts were back on the floor.

“Then where can I put one? Lower? How _much_ lower?” Stiles looked down between them as if scoping out a choice spot.

Now Derek whined, “Sti-iles!—I gotta get home!” He gripped Stiles by his shoulders but with no force. Instead he started tenderly kneading, which made his thoughts wander.

“What, you have the early bird special dinnertime at your house? We got lots of time,” Stiles argued.

Especially at the velocity they, hormones full speed ahead, did the deed.

Propelling Derek toward the bed again Stiles presented his case while moving. “We’re two of the smartest people in that class.—And I can talk for ten minutes about _any_ thing, off the top of head, easy.—We got this.”

Derek couldn’t disagree about the talking part.

He let Stiles push him to the mattress but then he got pulled right back up. Instead Stiles sat down with his hands braced on Derek’s hips.

“May I have the honor?” he asked.

Derek didn’t know what to expect exactly, but he was positive he’d like it, probably a lot. He nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

What he didn’t expect was Stiles turning him around.

“What’re you— _eeep!”_ He squeaked when Stiles’s fingers made contact with the sensitive skin at his belt line. “That tickles!”

“Didn’t mean to,” Stiles apologized, adroitly unbuckling and opening Derek’s pants from behind. More firmly, so as not to tickle again, he inserted his fingers between waistband and body and began unveiling Derek’s butt, kissing one cheek then the other as he exposed more of each.

“You’re literally kissing my ass,” Derek laughed, trying to twist his head around enough to see, which he couldn’t.

“Yes I am!” Stiles boasted. “Because that’s what boyfriends do, because that’s what we are!—You said!” For emphasis Stiles lapped his tongue into the little v-shape where Derek’s butt cleft started.

Derek’s head tilted back, his eyes closed. He tugged his boxer briefs down in front because he was already so hard.

“I did,” he sighed. “We are.”

And another homework session in Stiles Stilinski's room receded into oblivion.

 

 


End file.
